


enamor me - Ironhide/Terra

by DeconstructedIronhide (InsertCoolName)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BV Ironhide, Courting Rituals, Courtship, Fluff, Gift Giving, Knives, M/M, Other, Weapons, a little bit of, honestly not sure which continuity Terra's from in this one, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 01:37:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14509659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertCoolName/pseuds/DeconstructedIronhide
Summary: The dagger is rather small, only two-and-a-half servo’s lengths in Ironhide’s grip. The blade itself is wavy in style, impeccably sharp and made of the finest Cybertronian metals he had on hand. It’s etched with a mixture of Cybertronian and Earth designs that tangle quite perfectly, in the weaponsmith’s not-so-humble opinion. The hilt and crossguard are made of the same metals as the blade, and are just as carefully etched, but the pommel is the true beauty. Ironhide has painstakingly carved it into the shape of small blossoms and, in the center of each one, inlaid them with the tiniest of crystals so that they sparkled in the light, as if they were covered in dew drops. All in all, a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, one that Ironhide should be very proud of.It is probably the most ornate weapon he’s ever created.He hates it.





	enamor me - Ironhide/Terra

**Author's Note:**

> An 'enamor me' drabble requested by and featuring @immortalwanderer's OC Terra. Not beta read.

By Primus and any other deities that may or may not be listening, this will  _ never work _ .

Ironhide groans from behind his servos for possibly the third time in the last ten minutes, running his digits down his face with a sigh. He stares up at the ceiling of his ‘workshop’ for a few seconds, then sighs again before looking down at his recently completed project.

The dagger is rather small, only two-and-a-half servo’s lengths in Ironhide’s grip. The blade itself is wavy in style, impeccably sharp and made of the finest Cybertronian metals he had on hand. It’s etched with a mixture of Cybertronian and Earth designs that tangle quite perfectly, in the weaponsmith’s not-so-humble opinion. The hilt and crossguard are made of the same metals as the blade, and are just as carefully etched, but the pommel is the true beauty. Ironhide has painstakingly carved it into the shape of small blossoms and, in the center of each one, inlaid them with the tiniest of crystals so that they sparkled in the light, as if they were covered in dew drops. All in all, a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, one that Ironhide should be very proud of.

It is probably the most ornate weapon he’s ever created.

He hates it.

Ironhide groans again, beginning to pace. Primus, this will never  _ work _ .

Wooing in Simfur was something that had been taken very seriously. There were steps.  _ Rules _ . A fraggin’  _ schedule _ to follow. Ironhide has never partaken in it - he’d never gotten along well with anyone in Simfur, let alone been close enough to possibly  _ court _ someone - and, quite frankly, he thinks it’s all ridiculous. Too much tradition and expectations and all that ridiculous slag.

…still, Ironhide determined to get this right. So tradition it is.

In Simfur, the first gift was always a weapon. Something that showed off the giver’s skill, in both their particular craft and in ability to protect the one they’re wooing. Something that was as flashy and decorative as it was practical and useful.

Ironhide pauses his pacing to glance at the dagger. Definitely flashy as fuck, but also incredibly dangerous, as long as the wielder knows what they’re doing.

Terra definitely seems like he’d know what he’s doing… but Ironhide’s still not sure if a fancy knife is the way to go at this.

Ironhide continues pacing.

This is  _ never _ going to work.

Sighing one last time, Ironhide spins on one pede and grabs one of his laser tools with a grumble and pulls up a lexicon from databases he hasn’t used in forever. There’s one last thing he needs to etch into the blade…

* * *

 

“I made something for you.”

Ironhide shuffles from one pede to the other in front of the open door to Terra’s hab, frowning down at the bundle of ratty cloth in his servos. In his haste to get this over with he’d wrapped the dagger up in a couple of old cleaning rags and bound it with wire. He’d regretted it as soon as Terra had opened his door - that is no way to give a gift of any sort,  _ especially _ not something like this - but it’s too late to back out now.

Mentally sighing at himself and his stupidity, Ironhide unwraps the bundle, revealing the piece of weaponry and holding it right-side-up so that Terra could see his name engraved on its blade in rough slashes of Old Cybertronian - another part of the tradition, one that Ironhide couldn’t overlook as easily as any others he might have. He frowns down at it, wishing for the first time in a long time that he could read his own fragging language, just to make sure it was right more than anything else, before finally looking Terra in the face.

EM field barely restrained in an effort to hide his embarrassment, anxiety, and hope, Ironhide holds out the dagger.


End file.
